


you know (you’ve got me in your pocket)

by potionapproachings



Series: The Domestic Life [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, basically they are in love your honour, pointless slice of life seems to be my jam lately and I need to get it out of my system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potionapproachings/pseuds/potionapproachings
Summary: “Welcome home sensei,” he murmurs as he relieves Iruka of his flack jacket and forehead protector, placing them judiciously in their respective places. “Rough day?”Iruka finds some remnants of energy within himself to muster out a smile, as faint as it ends up being.“If you’re saying that I look as tired as I currently feel Kakashi-sensei, I might have to to take offence.”
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Series: The Domestic Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113026
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114





	1. Hair

It’s been a long day.

The kids had been unusually hyperactive that morning, and by the concluding hours of the practical portion of their academy learning - Konohamaru, in particular, had seemed keen on aiming wildly at anything _other_ than the intended target, leaving his long-suffering sensei to block double the usual amount of hits from wayward kunai to prevent any from landing on surrounding classmates - Iruka’s body had felt completely battered.

And it hadn’t gotten any better from there, because the latter part of his day had been a double-shift at the mission desk, where reminiscent to his classroom, the returning shinobi had made his work as tedious as possible, which to Iruka, plummeted the already depressingly low bar of jounin respectability to hell.

There had been an overabundance of shouting, beseeching, and blood stained on forms to the point of illegibility - by all accounts, Iruka knows he needs a day off, at the very least, if his heart feels dead as ice trying to decipher atrocious grammar on half-filled reports instead of the usual surges of irritation, but the illusion of peace in present circumstances is spider-web thin and the scent of oncoming war is in the air.

Everyone is being worked to the bone, and Iruka has always done his duty well. It is no different now.

So yes, the day has been long, and he's more than eager to step into the comfort of his home to finally put his weary mind at ease, his thoughts turning to the leftovers of rice from the previous day, the fresh eggplant he had bought earlier that weekend because Kakashi would be returning from his mission soon and he wants to surprise him, even if his body is protesting with every step he takes and his mind is clouding over with exhaustion.

It is, with these thoughts in mind, that he opens his front door and is greeted with the sight of the man himself, dressed in the midnight blue, housewear yukata that he alternates between the two other matching pairs, which are all now permanently within Iruka’s residence and mixed in his own laundry on washing days. Kakashi _is_ early, so it seems.

Iruka feels that telltale shiver in his chest, the one that he’s been feeling more and more these days, as their tentative courting has passed the third, fifth, seventh month mark - the delight and pleasure that comes with talking to Kakashi, thinking of Kakashi, being surrounded by Kakashi. Being welcomed home to Kakashi stretched out on his foldable living room sofa like a lazy house cat, collarbones peeking out from the loose material of his clothing, and bags of Ichiraku, warm and steaming, laid out on the kitchen table.

It is there, in the forefront of his genkan, that Iruka lets himself be still for a moment, acclimating to the heat seeping into his body now that he is within these four walls and away from the frigid temperatures of late winter, and it is there that he stands while Kakashi saunters up to him, all graceful limbs despite the typical, lazy posture.

“Welcome home sensei,” he murmurs as he relieves Iruka of his flack jacket and forehead protector, placing them judiciously in their respective places. “Rough day?”

Iruka finds some remnants of energy within himself to muster out a smile, as faint as it ends up being.

“If you’re saying that I look as tired as I currently feel Kakashi-sensei, I might have to to take offence.”

He has to consciously fight to keep his words from slurring. Perhaps he _did_ overdo it a little too much today, recalling suddenly that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and thinks that might be why his limbs are feeling like overcooked ramen and his stomach is gurgling slightly with nausea.

Kakashi narrows his eyes at him, eyebrows drawing downwards in the startings of a disgruntled expression. Iruka goes to smooth them out with the tip of his pinky.

This only seems to make them furrow further.

“Ah, so you also skipped lunch, on top of trying your best to work yourself to death,” Kakashi mutters under his breath as he pulls Iruka towards the takeout. Iruka wonders if he copied a new mind-reading jutsu on this latest mission of his.

He opens his mouth to ask but before he’s able to get a word out, Kakashi takes one quick look at him and says “I’m not reading your mind, you’re just looking a little grey around the edges. Now eat.”

It’s an earnest request and so, warm and comfortable with Kakashi at his side, and laced with too much fatigue to argue, Iruka turns his attention to the expertly made food and does just as asked.

When they are finished, Kakashi leads him to the shower, and Iruka leans against the wall as he is gently but thoroughly washed, the grime and dirt of the day draining away along with the frustrations and stresses that had accumulated into both the filaments of his muscles and the crevices of his thoughts. Being under Kakashi’s charge, he thinks distantly, is where he always wants to be.

He is lax and relaxed against Kakashi’s shoulder as Kakashi turns his head into the spray of water, unties his ponytail, and while covering his eyes with one hand, rubs into his scalp with the other. As his dark strands are shampooed and conditioned carefully in turn, with every snag and knot patiently unravelled by Kakashi’s callused fingers, Iruka barely notices how much he’s melted into Kakashi’s hold until Kakashi has to unwind from him briefly to grab the towel - the large white one, fluffy and almost unbearably soft, that he knows is Iruka’s favourite.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says afterwards, voice husky and rough, nose buried at the nape of Iruka’s neck, as they’re bundled together deep under winter-thick covers. A bamboo hair towel is wrapped firmly around Iruka’s still damp tresses, and the strong fortress of Kakashi’s arms are secure around his body.

Iruka nestles closer to Kakashi’s chest and hums.

“Says the one who routinely takes S-rank after S-rank without a single thought to rest,” he mumbles. “Hypocrisy is not a good look on you, Kakashi.”

Kakashi grumbles, nudging him slightly. Then says, voice quiet, “I’m getting better at that.”

Iruka has to concede to this, Kakashi isn’t wrong. One would never think Kakashi capable of slowing down and he hasn’t entirely done that, not really - the village has him bound even more tightly these days, and no active ninja in the whole of the village during these times can afford to take proper days off of missions - but ever since beginning this relationship with Iruka, Kakashi takes care of himself more. Iruka is thankful for this more than he can express in words, that Kakashi has chosen and continues to choose to raise the standards of his own wellbeing, and he tells him as much.

(Even surpassing this, however, Kakashi seizes the time to make sure he takes good care of Iruka, too)

“But even when you’re half dead with chakra exhaustion, or bleeding out on my tatami mats, you are still, somehow, incredibly lovely to me,” Iruka adds, almost inaudibly, too tired to care if he’s saying too much too soon, or to think through whether or not this admittance will encourage Kakashi’s recklessness. Either way, it is the truth.

“And you’re still incredibly beautiful, even when you’re exhausted beyond belief and killing my mind with worry,” Kakashi sighs in resignation, tangling their legs together and pressing ever so closer to Iruka, his warmth a soothing weight that is absorbed steadily into Iruka’s very bones.

With that, Iruka smiles, calm and content, letting the lull of sleep claim him.


	2. Backbone

It’s with a twinge of pain that Iruka finds himself awake, the predawn sky dark in the early hours of the morning, and the smell of yesterday’s rain still strong in the air flowing through the netted bedroom windows.

He winces, and shuts his eyes against the dull ache spreading through his upper back, trying to relax against the bed as much as he can so his muscles don’t stiffen or lock up in a way where, when he has to start getting ready to be at the Academy in a couple hours, the process of extricating himself from their bed will be increasingly arduous.

Though this hurt isn’t new, has been preceded and succeeded by others, his mind and his body having been conditioned to withstand such deep discomfort to the point where it’s ingrained within him like second nature, and though he is used to its comings and goings in the same way he’s familiar with the changing of the seasons - Iruka still feels the agony of it, just the same.

He will never regret it, protecting the child whom he has come to call his own, who he loves so dearly that every fibre of Iruka’s being had reached out, without any conscious thought, to shield him that day.

No, it is an unthinkable notion that he could be remorseful in saving Naruto’s life the way he had, but his body still remembers those cuts of betrayal, how the fragments of his muscles tore as the force of the shuriken hit its unintended target, and sometimes, on days like these, this burden is harder to bear.

As he lays there, trying to take deep calming breaths in an effort to anchor his nerves until the throbbing passes, Iruka senses the line of warmth that’s nestled closely to his side shift, and one large palm, warm and gentle, grazes lightly down the curve of his spine.

He flickers his eyes open as lips press against the bridge of his nose, and is greeted with the sight of a sleep-mussed Kakashi, hair all in disarray and pillow lines marking the side of his face. Kakashi’s gaze sharpens, however, as he takes in the tense inflection of Iruka’s frame.

He slowly sits up, and asks very quietly, “Your back?”

When Iruka nods in affirmation, he is gently maneuvered to his stomach and Kakashi briefly leaves his side to search within the drawers of their side table, until he returns with a small jar of lavender oil in hand. A sweet, floral scent permeates the air as the container is opened, Kakashi pouring a sufficient amount of the ointment onto his palm to warm it up before his fingers smooth up along the ridges of Iruka’s vertebrae, leaving glistening trails in their wake.

When they reach the column of his neck, Kakashi presses down lightly, kneading small circles into the muscles of his shoulders and repeating the motions as he makes his way down the entire expanse of Iruka’s torso. Iruka cannot help but groan into his pillow as he is - in the very systematic and efficient manner that reminds him of Kakashi the warrior, Kakashi the soldier - taken apart, and fully surrenders himself to the steady ministrations with unabashed relief.

When Kakashi is finished, the soreness has eased considerably.

As the balm is put away and Kakashi crawls back into bed once more, gathering Iruka’s now pliable form into his arms and cuddling him close, pressing tender kisses across his hairline as they tangle their legs together, Iruka feels a sharp pang in his chest.

Giving Kakashi his heart had meant that he be vulnerable about the care his body needed, despite the reservations that normally prevent him from doing so.

The orphan child in him screams that he should never be a burden, he’s old enough to wipe away his own tears and no one needs to know how far beneath the ground he’s buried his miseries. He is independent, he can stand strong on his own and surpassing that, be someone others can lean on, too. He can be the guiding hand that encourages his students, the bright smile that welcomes weary ninja from their missions, the fire that burns even in the darkest of nights.

Afterall, he is shinobi. Pain is something he had learned to function around, whether or not the affliction had been physical.

But, now, with Kakashi, his longstanding habits of gritting his teeth against his suffering and pushing through his days while he did what was needed of him have slowly been changing.

He had never thought it could feel so good, to be cherished like this.

“Thank you,” Iruka whispers, nuzzling into the comforting crook of Kakashi’s neck, and he means it in more than one way.

“Of course,” Kakashi answers, his hold on Iruka tightening ever so slightly. “Always, for you.”


	3. Hand

The full moon shines bright and true, a saucer of milk against a background of roiling black, the tiny pinpricks of stars faint as fine needlework in the night sky.

Iruka’s hands are wrapped around a mug of tea, long grown cold, and he stares up at the full expanse of the heavens unseeingly, mind more focused on trying to swallow down the stone that seems to have lodged in his throat, sticky and unmovable.

It is sometimes like this.

Fifteen years have flown by since his parents passed on and still, it feels as though his heart is being shredded in an imitation of the very first time the news of their deaths reached him, the chill of loss and shattering sorrow drenching his soul like the glacial numbness of ice water.

Usually, the memories he holds of his mother and his father are enough for the gaping hole that they left behind to be filled with the joyful imprints they departed on his life, including the firm certainty that they would be proud of the man he’s grown into. There’s a quiet confidence that always drapes comfortably on his shoulders from the knowledge that just by existing, he gives honour and meaning to their lives. They have never let him forget that he is always, will be _always_ , enough as he is.

But sometimes, it is like this - when sleep decides to elude him at certain hours, driving him away from the unfaltering stronghold of Kakashi’s arms and out into the small space of his balcony, wrapped in old grief and isolated, with only the few pots of herbs he keeps outside as company.

This too will pass, he tells himself, it is just the side effect of having loved to the fullest. He just needs to hold on, wait out the storm that seems as though it will churn onwards forever, and then. Then he will be able to breathe again.

He tries to remember the full bellied rumble of his father’s laugh, the way he would scoop Iruka up to sit on his shoulders for a better view of festival fireworks, the steady warmth of his hugs.

Tries to think about the sunshine glow of his mother’s smile, the beautiful chestnut of her eyes, how she’d always greet him with tickle attacks after coming home from a mission, even the ones that had been long and brutal.

Tries to forget the smell of fire and blood, the tenderness in his throat from screaming out in vain against forces dragging him away from the family he cannot lose; no matter their sworn loyalty or shinobi allegiance, _he cannot lose them_ —

Iruka doesn’t realize he’s trembling until suddenly, the sliding door opens and a familiar presence makes its way to his side. As he’s maneuvered to rest flush against a strong chest and wrapped in an unwavering embrace, cup of tea set aside, he goes to hide his face along the sweep of Kakashi’s neck, shuddering against his body.

“Sensei,” Kakashi croons softly, rocking him gently, so gently it makes something raw in Iruka ache, and curls one of Iruka’s hands in his own.

He brings it up to his face, and brushes his lips over Iruka’s scar-strewn palm, his kiss delicate as dragonfly wings.

Iruka traces the curve of his mouth, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the graceful profile of his jaw. He brings his fingers to rest just beneath the pulse point around Kakashi’s ear, focusing on its sure rhythm as he is cradled ever closer.

Then, as Iruka is letting his tired eyes fall shut, he hears the hushed murmurs of an old country lullaby vocalize into the dry summer air, the verses rising and falling like the calming fluctuation of the sea on a clear day.

He lets his mind sink into the slow, sweet cadence of Kakashi’s voice, and breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a 5 +1 chaptered fic but I hit a few hurdles along the way in my writing and ended up deleting what was initially the second chapter. This kind of threw me off the flow and direction I intended for the story, so I've decided to mark it complete for now, because I don't think I have the ability to do future chapters justice at the moment. I might come back to it in the future if inspiration ever strikes but regardless, thank you to everyone who read this piece, and for all the encouraging comments. I appreciate each and every one!


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